Monday, February 26, 2007

Poet Tree

A poet skips the plot.
Not for her the old growth
in a long tale's trunk
where bole thickens month by month
into the novel's knotted gnarl.
She touches tongue
directly to the flesh,
of succulent semantic fruit.
She cracks a shell -
where kernels waft
essential image oil.
Let others scale
the branching storied limbs
to prune their trees
and leaf by leaf make symmetry.

Sunday, February 25, 2007

Tip

Slumped in a moist mound gleams
a large animal's fresh offal.
The bay beyond, bright blue between the trees.
Under my soles, 45 years of disgraced materials
peppered with long life double A's,
a leach of heavy metal spice
among abstractions in brittle foam, once
a flat screen monitor’s chrysalis casing.
Sea birds loud cloud clamorous,
long lone undulating 'aaaark', trailing.
The last of the flies evicted far down the road.

Saturday, February 17, 2007

Marion Made

Crush
infatuation weight
soul freight
in fool's gold
even real gold.

-c-r-u-s-h-
I heft the letters
each by each.
Even the vowel weighs
several ounces.

30 years of my
lady's alchemy
transforming gold
to feathers
light as a lark. Wings
for my skylarking soul.

Tuesday, February 13, 2007

LOL ... can't resist linking to my daughter's new cat cartoons.

Friday, February 09, 2007

Piece of Jesus

Everybody’s Jesus is
liberal
Democrat
Republican
conservative
communist
capitalist
socialist
pacifist
Buddhist
Baha’i
Muslim
Mormon
Hindu
Catholic
Protestant.
Everybody’ll have
a piece of Jesus.
Yum, yum.

Nobody’s Jesus is
obtuse
rule breaker
Jew
convict
lowlife associate
plain spoken
antagonizer
miracle maker
woman respecter
child praiser
exclusivist
flawless
dead raiser
bleeder on a cross
empty tomb man
hard word man
who said
‘Unless you eat my flesh
and drink my blood
you have no part with me. ’
Cannibal man?
Yum, yum.

Saturday, February 03, 2007

'Who have you had to say goodbye to?'

'Sunday Scribblings' topic for 4 February 2007

Synchronicity in the grand plan
has left another note for me.
What did
Meg and Laini know
the week my mother's pulse
fluttered to silence in the night?

Other such scribbled notes I've found
still legible though washed ashore,
eternity
tweaking
the debris of another week's tides.

This very Wednesday
nurse Clare unlocked the room,
put tea in my hand and closed the door.
They'd laid a long rose
across the stillness of her chest
opened the large-print Psalms beside her bed:
'I shall dwell in the house of the Lord forever.'
A delusional Christ has led her to this fancy?

Or just perhaps...
commensurate in scale
to deepest bafflement at the stuff of being
hangs wild happiness to match her deepest longing.

Friday, February 02, 2007

Please pardon probable inattention and sparse, if any, entries in the next few weeks. A swell of biz and other mundane & deadlines have swamped my boat a bit ... as well as the death of my elderly mum on Wednesday. (She was looking forward to the embrace of the Christ she loves.)